


the musings of a huntress

by corgoptimism (orphan_account)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Violence, and posted with entirely too much apprehension, just gonna slap that teen and up there tho. just in case. dont want anyone on my case., ovw is rated t anyways, there is violence now but it's not that bad i think. tread with caution though., this is actually not a oneshot anymore but probably a growing collection of drabbles, which are all written entirely too early, winston is there for like five minutes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/corgoptimism
Summary: Widowmaker isn't quite fixable.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic that i've had the bravery to post online in an easily viewable space, to be honest. this is not me asking y'all to Be Gentle but rather, this is being said to show how deep I am into the Widowmaker Hell Pit. I have been technically writing fics for about 5 years now and this is the first one to see the light of day. i do not know how much i am going to hate myself for taking this leap when i wake up but i expect it to be quite a bit.
> 
> Anyways, Blizzard-- Give us a Widowmaker comic. come on, please. I'll beg.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an au where overwatch is successfully recalled, the planets align, god smiles upon our earth, and widowmaker half-agrees to try and be salvaged from what talon made her into. it does not work perfectly. everything is tense and awkward. winston is not unsociable, but he doesn't have enough people skills to deal with this. not a lot of people do. NOW WITH POSSIBLY BAD FRENCH. 
> 
> I actually tried for the first time on this one, I genuinely feel a redemption arc for Widowmaker would not and should not end perfectly but if handled well could put her in a decidedly better place than where she started from.

She sits in the far right corner of Winston's office, looking out over the once again active grounds of Watchpoint Gibraltar. Her hair spills down her back in a dark curtain, and the warm amber sunlight that floods through the window warms her body under the simple, featureless black sweater and jeans. Angela Ziegler may be a prodigy, but she could not fix everything; even now, it feels frighteningly odd to be warm again.

Winston sits to her left, his legs propped up on his desk, finger in a jar of peanut butter as his eyes pore across documents on a screen that is turned so that she cannot see. He scoops out a bit, then licks it off, before tossing the emptied container over his shoulder.

The training grounds are alive with sound in the distance, but the office is closed off from all of that, and strangely quiet apart from the sound of computer keys tapping.

"Right then," begins Winston, after loudly clearing his throat and straightening his glasses, taking his attention off of his work.

"Well-- as much as it deeply concerns certain members of our organization..." He coughs, gazing out the window to avoid Widowmaker's tired gaze meeting his eyes. "You have been cleared to roam the facility without supervision. Congratulations."

He rumbles it with a sense of pride in her that is nearly entirely lost on Widowmaker, and she scoffs halfheartedly, though without any of her old malice. Her shoulders are slumped, and she rests her elbows on her knees. Golden eyes that once flashed with cruelty now are heavy-lidded and dull, more lifeless than anything. She is a shadow of either of her former selves.

"Amélie--" He stops when he sees her visibly flinch at the name.  
She shoots back coldly in the moment of silence he leaves, "-- _Is someone I am not_. Do not talk to me as if I am."

Dark hair cascades in a waterfall over her face as her head hangs down, hiding her features from sight, obscuring the irritation in her eyes.

Winston, for his part, clears his throat in embarrassment. The deep rumble in his chest breaks the hush that had fallen over the room. After a second, he mutters, "Erm. Sorry. Force of habit, you see..."  
The sentence grows softer and softer until he trails off completely, and the uncomfortable quiet once again expands to fill any unoccupied space. The only noises are the clicks and whirrs of Winston's machines, and the faintest sounds of the training grounds, alive with gunfire.

She is the first to shatter it, this time, with a defeated sigh. "It is as said, once bitten, twice shy. This will only create more tension. You should not."

"You are trying to change, and the others need to respect that. I will _not_ have you treated like a prisoner until the day you die."

He cannot see it, but a bitter smile curls her lips. "One might call you too kind, Winston," she says, in a tone that carries the slightest hint of condescension, "as you offer your hand to someone who has betrayed you once already. Everyone is well within their right to be wary of me. Some more than others." Tossing her hair over her shoulder with a swing of her head, she mimes a rifle in her hands, then jerks back as she pretends to fire. She is still just as perceptive; even though he relaxes nearly immediately, she picks up on the split-second tension in his muscles at the gesture.

" _Certain operatives_ here still bear the marks of my efforts. Or have you already forgotten some of my best shots?"

He shifts uncomfortably under her intense, searching gaze, then says lowly, cautiously, "It was not your fault. You didn't-- you would never want to do those things."

Widowmaker lets out a humorless bark of laughter at that, and the harsh noise is unpleasant against the scientist's ears. " _I would never?_ Winston, you encountered me enough times to understand that I did not hesitate; I was shaped into a monster, yes, but as a monster I rejoiced in fulfilling my purpose. Even now--" she stops abruptly, the cruel glint in her eyes fading, and when she begins again, her voice is lower, less energetic. "Even now, when I do not feel the irresistible drive, it is the only art I have perfected."

At some point during that diatribe, she began to sit up; now done, she slumps back into her chair. "All of you wanted Amélie back, but instead you salvaged me, whatever I might be. Halfway between Amélie and the Widowmaker, I am lost without my rifle, but even the thought of holding it stings my palms. I am not what I should be, not fit for Talon or for you."

"You are not defined by what people want you to be." Winston finally meets her eyes, and his own brim with a warm conviction that fills his words.

"I am absolutely defined by that," Widowmaker hisses in response. "It is the nature of what I was made into." Her voice is rasping and strained, like she is explaining something obvious to an inquisitive child. "You _refuse_ to understand, Winston. Just like your service to Overwatch is entwined with your inner beliefs, the core of your self, my very identity was built upon the fact that I could put a bullet in a skull at 200 meters without remorse. Even more than that; I did not only feel unapologetic, I felt positively _wonderful_ doing so. _S'il vous plaît_ , do not delude yourself, scientist. There was no little girl inside watching it happen or wanting it to stop. It was entirely _me_. Now, my mind tells me I should still be that which I know to be me in my memories, even with my urge to do so gone."

It's the most Winston has ever heard her say after her "recovery", and that alone stuns him speechless. This silence is the longest silence yet, sitting unbroken for minutes on end as the sun falls further towards the horizon, its light growing ever redder. They both sit with there eyes anywhere but on the other, before, finally, Widowmaker murmurs, " _Please_. You are nervous around me too, and far too clumsy with your words and actions to hide it. _Arrête d'être condescendant_."

She rises from her seat smoothly and turns away from him, striding out the doorway with the sun on her back. Winston watches her leave, searching for something to say, coming up with nothing that will not just inflame the situation further.

To his immediate surprise, Widowmaker pauses with her foot on the threshold. Her following words she chooses after a moment of thought, and she speaks them carefully, without doing so much as looking over her shoulder.

"... _Je vous remercie_ , Winston. Though you are not eloquent, and your words are fact largely ineffective, your efforts are... recognized. I will try and enjoy my new freedoms."

Then she is gone, and there seems to be a tangible empty space in the office without her distinctive presence.

**Author's Note:**

> this used to be the third chapter but I feel like its the only one out of those three that I would have liked to keep.


End file.
